The Shades That Prowl

Chapter 3: May '82: Chained to Shookstown

            When Mrs. Herron called me about housesitting near Shookstown, I wasn't thrilled about watching dogs, but housesitting would get me out of mom and dad's and away from whatever was happening there. Besides, Dutton lived up the road. It would be a good, safe place far from the weirdness at my parents'.

I turned from Kemp Lane and counted houses as I drove toward the Catoctin Mountain.

"Three. Four. Five... Wow. That is one creepy house."

It was a three story, gray Victorian, with narrow, steep roofs and lean, tall windows, framed by octagonal turrets with steeple-like caps; a house like a startled clown face watching me as I parked my truck and approached the door. It was early evening and the air was warm and the street quiet in Shookstown. The porch was gray shadows behind angular, ascending columns. A vague pink light came from somewhere within giving the interior a faint glow. All that I wanted was peace for a while, but this house looked like the very thing I sought to escape.

The heavy door and marble outer foyer spoke of wealth, but the non-functional old-style doorbell pull and the silent modern doorbell revealed a different truth. I looked over my shoulder, aware for the first time that Kemp Lane Cemetery was nearer than I thought. The key fit and I stepped into the foyer of a wilted Victorian memory with eight foot tall pocket doors looking as though they hadn't been closed for years, worn furniture from indeterminate periods, and pink and green floral wallpaper wearing its age in muted beige dimness. A note rested in a bowl on the foyer table. The two dogs padded up as I read Mrs. Herron's note.

Hello Matthew, my little duck. So, this is the house. An eccentric artist owned it sometime or another, but he couldn't keep it up. It was a bank repo. It's wonderful and beautiful and has a life of its own. That's why Tom, the girls, and I love it. Anyway, the dogs don't take much time; their food's in the pantry, and you might find you like them around. I know you're gone during the day, but leave some shoes or a jacket in the outer foyer so the place looks lived in. I like the thought of your truck parked outside so no one gets any funny ideas. I'll have a check for you when we're stateside. Enjoy the house.

Mrs. H

Her note felt happy. I felt something else. I let the dogs out the side door off the addition at the back of the house. We played until dusk.

I retrieved my food, sleeping bag, and two stuff-bags of clothes from my truck. Laden, I re-entered the front door and set my food on a table in the foyer and dropped my wallet, keys, and change in the bowl.

I went upstairs to choose my room. The height and width of the grand staircase made the house seem emptier. Dust trails played along the corners of the light. I didn't bother turning left at the top of the stairs. That was the upstairs portion of the addition, above the kitchen and eat-in area. Mrs. Herron had said they never used those rooms. I peeked into the bathroom as I turned right.

"Clean. Antiquated, but clean," I said.

I turned right into the upstairs hall. It was as large as my Mom and Dad's living room. It had only four doors in it apart from the attic door around the corner. The first bedroom on the right was the younger daughter's bedroom. It was stuffed animals and pastel rainbows. I pulled the door shut.

"Never need to go in there again."

I crossed the hall to the office. I stood in the doorway for a minute admiring the editor's desk and rows of shelved books. It smelled like history and unsolved mysteries. I pulled the door shut, but figured that I'd be back. I moved down the hall to the front room on that side.